


do to me what you want to

by steponherneck (gangbangs)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Consensual Non-Consent, D/s elements, Humiliation, M/M, Mention of Knife Play, Possessive Behavior, Resistance Play, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gangbangs/pseuds/steponherneck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jongin likes the loss of control, the overwhelming helplessness of zitao holding him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do to me what you want to

Jongin flips Zitao over, grinning down victoriously as he leans in to suck a hickey against his neck, hips grinding down against his boyfriend’s. Zitao arches into it, big hands palming Jongin’s ass, Jongin’s name on his lips.  
  
They’d stumbled into the bedroom minutes earlier, still a little drunk from Lu Han and Yixing’s party, Jongin’s heart a little rattled with jealousy. He was always so bad at watching Zitao and Lu Han interact, hot little pinpricks of possessiveness stabbing under his skin. Jongin wished he had Yixing’s patience, his sense of security but even if Jongin knew nothing would come of it — they were best friends — he still found himself simmering in his own stupidity on occasion. He’d already had a rough week, his boss railing on him at work and it left him feeling wrung out, in constant need of reassurance.  
  
Jongin scrapes his teeth against Zitao’s skin, relishes the way Zitao’s body shudders before sucking against the bruised skin, lower this time against Zitao’s collarbone. It was a favourite spot for them both. Zitao’s hand pushes up his shirt, the other digging into his ass to push Jongin closer as he grinds upwards into Jongin’s hips. The friction pulls a moan out of Jongin, eyes closing as he breathes against Zitao’s neck.  
  
Teeth nip at his ear and Jongin shudders, full bodied, sensitive. “Did it bother you that much?" Zitao asks because of course he would pick up on it, when doesn’t he.  
  
"No," Jongin bites out, shifting so that he’s level with Zitao, staring down at Zitao’s look of amusement. The tilt of his lips upwards, pretty eyes cat like as they assess the slowly deepening scowl on Jongin’s face. It only make him feel worse, and that minor slip in his guard is all it takes for Zitao to flip Jongin back over, straddling his hips.  
  
His smirk widens, and before Jongin can shove him off, Zitao has his wrists pinned under a hand, the strain in his biceps outlined against his skin. Jongin lets out a laboured breath, eyes fixed on the taut pull of Zitao’s muscles. Shit.  
  
"What did we say about lying to each other, Jongin-ah?" Zitao whispers, low and husky. Jongin’s brain feels like it’s melting, as if he’s left it out in the sun too long.   
  
Jongin gives Zitao a sharp look, something he hopes isn’t as submissive as he feels, attempting to twist his wrists out of Zitao’s hold. It’s tight, too tight and Jongin’s having a lot of trouble thinking straight, caught up in the idea of struggling away. But he wants Zitao to hold him there, wants Zitao to make him feel helpless.   
  
 _Oh._  
  
Zitao rolls his hips down once, watches as Jongin moans. He leans in, kisses Jongin roughly, teeth nipping at Jongin’s mouth until he slips his tongue in, and Jongin feels like a mess, attempting to pull his wrists free of Zitao’s hold a second time. Nothing. Zitao slows down, kisses Jongin thoroughly as he palms Jongin though his jeans.  
  
He’s achingly hard, erection straining against the tough material of his jeans but Zitao has no intention of making this quick, he rarely does. Jongin feels light headed, bucking upwards into Zitao’s hand, eyes squeezed shut as he pants into Zitao’s mouth, tongue sliding against Zitao’s.  
  
"You were such a bad boy today," Zitao tells him, not sounding nearly as upset as he has in the past. Jongin’s been on the receiving end of Zitao’s anger, petty fights blown out of proportion thanks to Jongin’s inability to properly express himself and Zitao’s stubbornness. Still, it was always Zitao who apologised first, and Jongin had no way of resisting the tone of sincerity his apologies came with. Afterwards, however, it was always Jongin who got punished, ass spanked bright red, turned bluish purple by the next day.  
  
"No I wasn’t," Jongin retorts, on purpose. He knows what he should say but he also knows what Zitao wants him to say.  
  
"Wrong answer," Zitao says, crisp but hardly disappointed. It comes with a twist of Jongin’s nipple, hard enough that Jongin can’t hold the cry of pain in, hands still inaccessible to muffle the sound.  
  
Jongin pants underneath Zitao, aching for release, and simultaneously wiped out but ready to go. There is something about the way Zitao is looking at him, hungry but patient that sets Jongin’s skin on fire, makes the dull ache in his shoulders almost disappear. Jongin can’t even recall why he felt so jealous, can only focus on the impossibly tight hold Zitao has on his wrists, the weight of his body settled entirely on Jongin. He doesn’t think he could push Zitao off.  
  
"You like being punished, don’t you?" Zitao asks, finally,  _finally_ , unbuttoning Jongin’s jeans. His hand slips past the waistband of his briefs, wrapping around Jongin’s cock, thumb pressing into the slit. Jongin hisses, near ready to beg Zitao to let him come.  
  
"Yes," Jongin confesses, too wound up to play games any further and Zitao rewards the answer with a tug on his cock, hand sliding up and down easier as he spreads the precum gathered at the tip of Jongin’s cock.  
  
"What am I going to do with you," Zitao says, and it’s not a question, Jongin knows. Zitao likes him plenty enough just the way he is, a little bratty and difficult.  
  
The hold on his wrists loosens up and Jongin stiffens, whining involuntarily. Zitao looks confused for a split-second, before experimentally tightening his grip again. Jongin can’t help the sigh he lets out, and Zitao arches an eyebrow but Jongin ignores it, pushing upwards into Zitao’s hand. He’s so close, stomach tight and quivering in anticipation and as he fixates on the weight of Zitao on him, hands tied up, Jongin comes, cum splattering all over his t-shirt and Zitao’s hand.  
  
His body sags, Zitao letting go of his wrists. There’ll be bruises in the morning but right now Jongin feels out of it, body attempting to regulate his breathing, wind down. He pulls Zitao closer, kisses him lazily before asking, “Can I suck you off?"  
  
Zitao looks at Jongin for a moment, expression unreadable before he nods his head, licking his lips. “Yeah."  
  
Jongin waits for him to push his pants down before motioning for him to just straddle his face and Zitao looks surprised for a second before agreeing. He knows he’s avoiding thinking about what’s just happened but Jongin figures he can do that after he’s gotten his boyfriend off.  
  
  


☼

  
  
Jongin likes cooking. There is something relaxing about mindlessly chopping vegetables, lost in the routine of something so simple. It was an acquired skill, however. He’d been lucky enough growing up, with two older sisters and his mother spoiling him, that he never really had to cook for himself. Even in college they helped out and while Jongin had survived off of instant ramen, he’d tried applying himself a few times back then. Of course, the outcome had always been mediocre at best, Jongin’s focus never sticking.   
  
But there was something different about cooking for Zitao, something that warmed his chest and spread to the rest of his body when Zitao told him how well he’d done. Even thinking about it made Jongin flush, as if it were the first time Zitao had given him a compliment.  
  
“Mmm, you look so pretty when you blush,” Zitao mumbles into his ear, arms slipping around Jongin’s waist easily. They’d gotten up late after last night and while Jongin usually stayed in bed longer than Zitao, he’d woken up early unable to fall back asleep. Jongin’s thoughts had sunk into the phantom feeling of Zitao’s hands holding him down, unable to let go.  
  
The nip at his ear surprises Jongin, and he nearly drops the knife in his hand. Zitao’s hand slides down the length of his arm until it rests overtop of Jongin’s, holding it in place. “Am I distracting you, Jongin-ah?”  
  
He presses into Jongin from behind, warm body engulfing Jongin until he can’t move. It’s comforting, but Jongin’s mind wanders, recalls the previous night. Would Jongin be able to push Zitao off, if he tried? Jongin leans back, Zitao’s thick arms squeezing him in and it goes straight to his cock.  
  
“I guess I am, hmm?” Zitao hums, laughing softly as he lets his hand drop from Jongin’s, travelling lower until he can palm Jongin through his sweats. Jongin shudders, moaning, caught somewhere between the fantasy his mind is spinning and Zitao’s hand rubbing his half-hard cock.  
  
“We should take a shower,” Zitao whispers into his ear, a hand slipping up Jongin’s flimsy t-shirt, stroking Jongin’s stomach slowly. Jongin’s fighting a losing battle, already giving up on breakfast for the idea of Zitao fucking him in the shower.  
  
“What about breakfast?” he asks, almost out of obligation. Zitao only turns him around, kissing Jongin hungrily, as if they didn’t have the entire day to themselves. His hand travels up Jongin’s spine, the other one still squeezing Jongin’s now hard cock. It’s driving Jongin insane and maybe Zitao can just fuck him here. The shower's too far away.  
  
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll feed you,” Zitao snickers and Jongin would shove him away if he wasn’t so desperate to get off. Instead he makes a disgusted face, and watches as Zitao laughs, clearly finding himself very funny.  
  
They stumble over to the bathroom, fumbling with clothes, and by the time they’re through the door, Jongin’s completely naked. Zitao hoists him up easily, hands palming Jongin’s ass as he steps into the shower. Jongin wraps his legs around Zitao’s hips, arms curling around his neck, kisses deepening and leaving Jongin breathless.  
  
When Zitao presses him against cold tiles, Jongin shivers, his hold on Zitao tightening. Zitao laughs into Jongin’s mouth, breaking away to leave a trail of kisses down Jongin’s neck, teeth sinking in just under Jongin’s adam’s apple. Jongin reaches for the shower dial, turning it to hot as he tries not to throw off their balance.  
  
Water cascades down, hitting Zitao’s broad shoulders and disappearing down his back. Jongin moans at the sight, grinding down against Zitao’s hips, ready for more than just Zitao’s mouth on him.  
  
In an attempt to speed things up, Jongin unwraps his legs from around Zitao but before he can wiggle away, Zitao has him pinned to the wall. Fingers dig into Jongin’s cheeks, turning his face to meet Zitao’s. “Stay.”  
  
Jongin feels like the breath’s been knocked out of him, paralysed to the spot as Zitao leans in and kisses him, possessive. Jongin’s hands tremble as they rest against Zitao’s body, and he’s not sure what’s happening, just that he likes it too much. Even as he gives in, allows Zitao to press him against the tiles, Jongin wants to push him away, wants to see if Zitao will hold him in place forcibly.  
  
Zitao’s hand wraps around his cock and without thinking Jongin shoves at Zitao, pushes him back just slightly. It’s enough to still Zitao momentarily, the thudding of Jongin’s heart deafening. His hair’s in his eyes, dripping down his face. Zitao pushes it back, holds Jongin in place as if waiting for Jongin to say something, to tell him to stop. Jongin doesn’t, finds his throat clogged up but Zitao looks wary. He lets his hand fist Jongin loosely, watching Jongin carefully.   
  
The attention is overwhelming, Jongin’s skin tingling, gut churning. He tries to lean forward but Zitao yanks him back by the hair. Jongin’s immediate reaction is to try again but Zitao holds him in place effortlessly, the flex in his muscles making Jongin moan loud.  
  
“You’re not telling me something, baby,” Zitao says, pressing in closer, his hand quickening its pace around Jongin’s cock. Jongin can’t help the way his hips buck into the tight ring of Zitao’s fingers, not daring to move otherwise.  
  
“W-what?” Jongin gasps, barely able to keep his eyes open. He knows Zitao doesn’t want him to look away.  
  
“What about this do you like? Me holding you in place or you thinking you can get away?” Jongin lets out a loud cry, eyes squeezing shut as he feels the hot splatters of his own cum hitting his stomach, washed away in the spray of the shower. He’s gasping, chest heaving as he rides through his orgasm, Zitao’s hold in his hair finally loosening enough to let Jongin’s head drop to his shoulder.  
  
“You didn’t answer, Jongin,” Zitao reminds, running a hand through Jongin’s hair gently. Jongin knows he has to say  _something_  but he doesn’t even know how to explain what he wants.   
  
Zitao turns the shower off, keeping Jongin in place until Jongin finally straightens out, leaning back against the shower tiles. It surprises Jongin, sometimes, how patient Zitao can be. Usually it was the other way around.  
  
“I don’t know,” he mumbles, ears burning in shame. The embarrassment washes over his face, travelling down his chest and fuck, Jongin kinda just wishes he could hide. Zitao pulls back a little, the hand in Jongin’s hair sliding down his neck, past the curve of his shoulder until it reaches his hand. He squeezes Jongin’s fingers.  
  
“I need you to figure it out,” he says, lacing his fingers through Jongin’s. “I promise I won’t think it’s weird, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I’ll do anything for you.”  
  
Jongin’s body pulsates, a hot flash of heat pushing outwards from every inch of him. He feels dizzy, but mostly still embarrassed. Attempting a smile, however weak, Jongin leans in to hug Zitao, holding on tighter than he expected himself to.  
  
Zitao doesn’t press him for more, just holds him until Jongin whispers that he needs a little time to think it over.  
  
“Of course,” Zitao smiles, pulling Jongin out of the shower. He grabs a towel and starts drying Jongin off, pressing kisses into Jongin’s skin as he dried. Jongin shivers with every kiss, finally tugging Zitao to their bed. Jongin didn’t really care that Zitao was still wet. The sheets would dry off.  
  
  


☼

  
  
There was something to be said about Jongin’s ability to focus on one thing to the point of completely forgetting what else he was supposed to be doing. The open spreadsheet stares back at him and Jongin is supposed to be doing the budget breakdown for his department but instead he’s thinking about Zitao trying to coax out what exactly it was that Jongin wanted.  
  
Last night’s attempt hadn’t gone any better then the two prior to it and Jongin was beginning to think that Zitao was getting a little annoyed with him. Except that morning, Zitao had still woken him up with a kiss, fingers carding through Jongin’s hair. Maybe Jongin was reading into it too much.  
  
“You there, Jongin?” a teasing voice asks him and Jongin snaps out of his train of thought, focusing on Chanyeol’s figure draped over the propped up walls of his cubicle.  
  
“I, what, yes,” Jongin stumbles, feeling a bit like Yixing whenever he finally clued into a joke someone had made minutes earlier. “Did you need something?”  
  
“Nah, I was just wondering if you were alright?” Chanyeol replies, looking expectantly at Jongin.  
  
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jongin’s brows furrow as he looks up at Chanyeol, who looks mildly amused.  
  
“Well, your phone’s rang like three times and you haven’t picked it up once,” Chanyeol explains, smile a little kinder now. “Zitao just texted me to ask if you were okay.”  
  
 _Shit,_  Jongin curses internally, scrambling to grab his cell from out of his coat pocket. He sees the three missed calls plus several text messages, feeling dumb and guilty all at once. How stupid was he going to be over this?  
  
“I’m sorry, hyung,” Jongin mumbles, too embarrassed to look up at Chanyeol.  
  
“Did you have a fight with Zitao?” Chanyeol asks, always a little tactless but Jongin liked that about him.   
  
“Everything’s fine, I’m just a little out of it, I guess,” Jongin answers, smiling weakly up at Chanyeol. He gets a much warmer smile in return as Chanyeol reaches down and ruffles his hair.  
  
“I’m here if you need me,” he adds before leaving Jongin alone at his desk.   
  
Jongin dials Zitao’s number immediately, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he listens to the dial tone. The budget he has open on his computer will just have to wait. Getting up, Jongin leaves his desk, wandering out to the emergency staircase. He didn’t want anyone overhearing his conversation. If Zitao picked up.  
  
“Jongin?” Zitao says, sounding concerned. Jongin nearly jumps, forcing himself to focus on Zitao’s voice and nothing else.  
  
“Hey, sorry I didn’t pick up,” Jongin mumbles, a hand tugging at the hair along the nape of his neck.  
  
“Are you okay?” Zitao asks, and Jongin can imagine the look of worry on his features, the crease in his brow. If they were face to face, Zitao would fuss over him until he felt like Jongin was all there, intact.  
  
“Yeah, I’m just...distracted,” Jongin says, unsure if he should add anymore. He really didn’t want to annoy Zitao, the unease clawing up his spine. Somehow it felt like Jongin was asking for too much.  
  
The silence on the other end is disconcerting, and Jongin closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. He feels unreasonably tired and wants to tell Zitao that they should just forget about it. Jongin would get over it, but before he can say anything, Zitao starts.  
  
“I know you’re scared,” Zitao sounds awfully soft, like he doesn’t want Jongin to scamper off, always more willing to run away from his problems than face them. “But you don’t need to be. Whatever it is, I’ll be right there with you because I want to be.”  
  
Jongin’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to feel like crying but he has to fight to hold back tears, a hand fisting into the material of his dress pants. Everything he wants to say is lodged in his throat and he probably should have waited to call Zitao but what’s done is done.  
  
“We’ll talk when we get home,” Zitao assures and Jongin nods, forgetting that Zitao can’t see him. “Take care of yourself.”  
  
“You too,” Jongin whispers rubbing at his eyes. “Love you.”  
  
“Love you, too.”  
  
  


☼

  
  
Jongin’s not really paying attention to the television, head swimming as he replays Zitao’s soothing  _Whatever it is, I’ll be right there with you because I want to be_. It makes his heart shrink down a size or two, like it’s been thrown in the dryer but when it bursts back out, stretches back to it’s original size, it brings something rushing forward as well, dizzying almost. Jongin turns away from the television, head pressing against Zitao’s bare stomach. He exhales, feels the ripple of movement, the squeamish delight against the skin of his cheek. Zitao’s fingers card through his hair, and Jongin looks up to find Zitao smiling at him softly.  
  
“What was that for?”  
  
“I like watching your stomach quiver,” Jongin replies, drawing his legs up until they’re bent at the knee, pressing against the back of the couch. He likes this, lying with his head in Zitao’s lap. Likes how Zitao pets his hair until he either falls asleep or crawls forward into his lap to make out. Maybe more.  
  
“You like so many things,” Zitao murmurs and Jongin sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing as he holds it in, waits. The hand in his hair is affectionate, it never stills and Jongin can feel Zitao’s finger trace down the bridge of his nose, until the finger rests at his lips. “I need to know why, Jongin.”  
  
He can feel himself close off, drawbridge lifting upwards as he locks himself in, intruders out, but Jongin knows he needs to answer. Zitao has to understand what’s going on in his head. For a long moment, Jongin says nothing, attempting to fit pieces of his mind together that aren’t meant to lock in. This isn’t a puzzle.  
  
“Let’s start with something easier,” Zitao says, when Jongin only manages to open his mouth to croak out Zitao’s name. “What do you like about it?”  
  
This Jongin can answer, this Jongin has thought about in excess and the saturation of his desire is simply waiting to be squeezed out of him. “I like when you hold me down,” he breathes, hiding his face in Zitao’s stomach. There is a hand rubbing up and down his arm, a gesture meant to calm him, lull him into relaxation but Jongin can feel himself being wound up, fear crawling up his veins. He swallows, continues. “I, I like how I can’t, c-can’t fight you. That no matter what…”  
  
Jongin’s throat is too tight, his mouth too dry and he doesn’t know how to get the rest of it out but Zitao strokes his jaw, a steady beat. “You like having no control?” he prompts and Jongin nods, lower lip in his mouth as he attempts to flatten out how overwhelmed he feels.  
  
Zitao only hums, patient. Jongin’s heartbeat throbs in his ears and he looks up at Zitao, embarrassed flush heating up his cheeks. The thumb stroking his jaw sweeps over his cheekbone and Zitao gives him a warm smile, careful and reassuring.  
  
“You can keep going, if you’d like.”  
  
Jongin feels heavy, feels a weight pressing against his chest, debilitating but Zitao is always so reliable, he’s never hurt Jongin before so he takes a minute, breathing in and out until his heart slows down, isn’t as excited.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” Zitao asks, voice quite. Jongin can make out every little noise coming from the television but none of them seem to sit. He can’t actually understand what he’s hearing.  
  
What does Jongin want Zitao to do. In his fantasies, Zitao always surprises him, in the shower, at the front door, in their bed. Sometimes Jongin knows exactly who Zitao is and other times he doesn’t, other times Zitao is a stranger who tells Jongin over and over and over again how much he wants him. This is a rarer occurrence because what Jongin really likes is the idea of a struggle, of having to do something he doesn’t want, something out of his control.   
  
“Force me,” Jongin answers.  
  
“Force you…?”   
  
Jongin swallows, rising up from his position in Zitao’s lap until he can crawl forward, legs straddling Zitao’s thighs as his arms wrap around Zitao’s shoulders. He kisses Zitao once, lips barely touching before he leans his head forward to rest on Zitao’s shoulder. Zitao smells like luxury, always has but the musky scent of his sweat is hiding underneath and Jongin’s always liked that more.  
  
One of Zitao’s hands comes to rest at his hip, while the other smooths over his spine. He presses a kiss to Jongin’s neck, then again, higher up and Jongin shivers, involuntarily.  
  
“Be really rough,” Jongin whispers, finally, squeezing tighter and Zitao lets him, his hold on Jongin still comforting, nearly cautious. “And don’t stop, no matter what I say.”  
  
“No,” Zitao responds and Jongin tenses, feels something tighten impossibly around his throat before Zitao quickens to wrap his arms around Jongin’s torso, hold him closer. “I didn’t mean it like that. We need to have a safe word, like we did when we played with the knife. I need to know if I’ve hurt you. I need to stop if I do.”  
  
He bodily sags, relief flooding him and Zitao still wants to do this, doesn’t think Jongin is some kind of freak for wanting to be forced into having sex. “We can, we can just use the same one.”  
  
“Fried chicken? You said you felt stupid saying it,” Zitao reminds Jongin and the tension building up inside Jongin seems to deflate instantly, a popped balloon. He feels calmer.   
  
“Would you want to say that in the middle of sex? Fried chicken!” Jongin snips, but he’s just pressed a kiss behind Zitao’s ear and feels like kissing more.  
  
“The point of the safe word is that it disrupts the scene,” Zitao retorts and Jongin can’t help the smile forming on his lips. Zitao’s always so meticulous when it comes to their scenes, when it comes to playing out scenes. Jongin still remembers the distress on Zitao’s face when he’d first told Jongin about wanting to use a knife in bed, wanting to press it against Jongin’s skin and watch him tremble.  
  
“I’m only teasing,” Jongin murmurs. “It’s a good safe word.”  
  
Zitao pinches his side and Jongin yelps, sitting upright to glare at Zitao properly. “What was that for?”  
  
“For being a brat,” Zitao says, smirking and Jongin scowls, leans forward and bites down on Zitao’s collarbone, tongue dipping into the hollow above it. Jongin realises his revenge isn’t very vengeful but Zitao’s hand tightens at his hip, fingers digging in. He rolls his hips expertly down against Zitao’s hips and listens to the moan Zitao lets out. It’s Jongin’s turn to smirk.  
  
When Jongin pulls away from the bruise he’s sucked against Zitao’s skin, he admires the blotchy redness, teeth biting down on his lip.  
  
“So you’re a brat and a tease,” Zitao mumbles, falling back against the couch and watching Jongin from half lidded eyes. Jongin can feel Zitao’s half hard cock against his own and feels rather victorious.  
  
He hums, hands at Zitao’s shoulders as he closes the distance between them to give Zitao a kiss, ravenous. Zitao’s tongue sweeps over Jongin’s lip, teeth biting down until Jongin moans, cock harder.  
  
“Thank you,” he mumbles into Zitao’s swollen mouth, hips grinding against Zitao’s now, pace steady.  
  
Zitao holds him tighter, hand tangling into Jongin’s hair and gripping the strands painfully hard. Jongin likes this best, always has.  
  
“Anything for you, baby.”  
  
  


☼

  
  
Jongin’s not sure what possessed him to buy more than he needed, the juggling act up the stairs with his groceries clearly not worth it. His keys are in the back pocket of his jeans but both his hands are full. Annoyance with himself simmers on the edge of his thoughts, shuffling bags from one hand to the other. They’re heavy, the bag of rice on sale hard to ignore. Jongin had always been a bit shrewd with his money but growing up his family had never had that much.  
  
By the time he gets his keys out, somehow lodged in with his wallet in his back pocket, his other arm is near numb, the tips of his fingers dark red with blood. He lets out a grumble as he opens the front door, not bothering to take his shoes off as he heads straight for the kitchen.  
  
The shove into the wall comes out of nowhere, the breath knocked right out of Jongin’s lungs. He barely manages to turn his face in time, groceries still fisted in his hands. For a wide, panicked moment Jongin thinks it might actually be a thief before Zitao’s pressing into him, harder than necessary.  
  
“Welcome home, Jongin-ah,” Zitao whispers, ominous. Jongin shivers, gasping as he tries to even out his breathing but Zitao isn’t interested in Jongin’s comfort and it goes straight to his cock, heart thudding against his chest.  
  
“Z-Zitao,” Jongin stammers, unsure if he should let the groceries go, or maybe even use them to push Zitao away. But anticipation holds him frozen, Zitao’s hand shamelessly groping his ass, fingers kneading in. “What, what’re you doing?”  
  
“Whatever I want,” Zitao answers, far too cocky. Jongin finally decides to drop the groceries but as if anticipating it, Zitao fists a hand into Jongin’s hair and holds him against the wall, grip painful. “Be good, baby, or you won’t like me very much.”  
  
“Stop it,” Jongin rasps, feeling helpless as Zitao yanks his head back, revealing the length of his neck.  
  
“Or what?” Zitao laughs, palming Jongin’s hardening cock through his jeans. “You like this, don’t you, baby? You don’t want me to stop.”  
  
Jongin has to stifle a whimper, eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on how he could push Zitao away and not the tight hold he has in Jongin’s hair. “N-no, I, I don’t.”  
  
“But you’re so hard for me, baby,” Zitao smirks, the length of his cock pushing into Jongin’s ass. It’s when he begins rubbing himself against Jongin that Jongin uses the wall to push away, Zitao stumbling back. In the split-second of confusion, Jongin frees himself, turning to make it to the bedroom, lock himself in but Zitao’s faster, he’s always been faster.  
  
The hand that grips Jongin’s bicep is unforgiving, fingers digging in too hard and Jongin cries out despite himself. Zitao throws him against the foyer’s wall, pins Jongin down by the wrists, grasp tight enough to bruise.  
  
“Please,” Jongin begs, eyes beginning to water and Jongin can see the flash of concern in Zitao’s eyes but he’d promised not to stop unless Jongin used the safe word. “Please stop.”  
  
“No,” Zitao refuses, leaning in and kissing Jongin as if ready to swallow him whole, teeth sinking into Jongin’s lips. He can’t help the moan, or the way his body shudders when Zitao slides a thigh between his legs. “Fucking look at you, so desperate to get fucked.”  
  
“I’m not,” Jongin cries, gasping for breath, twisting his hands to push out of Zitao’s firm grip. Zitao just seems to hold tighter, grinding his hips down against Jongin, smirking when Jongin whimpers at the friction. “I’m not,” he repeats, as if trying to convince himself.  
  
Zitao drags Jongin’s hands higher, until he has them held down with one hand above his head. It reminds Jongin of the first time, his stomach twisting at the memory. He strokes the side of Jongin’s face, fingers rubbing over the rise of Jongin’s cheekbones, down the jut of his jaw until they dig into his chin. “It’s rude to lie, baby.”  
  
He kisses Jongin again, sucking on Jongin’s tongue until Jongin finds himself pushing down into Zitao’s thigh, seeking friction. Zitao chuckles, pulling back with a smirk, only to kiss his way to Jongin’s ear, sucking on the lobe as Jongin rubs himself against Zitao’s leg, control slipping. “Come on, Jongin, tell me how much you want me to fuck you.”  
  
“N-no,” Jongin whimpers, Zitao’s free hand unzipping his coat only to slip in underneath his sweater, nails raking up Jongin’s spine. Jongin whines into the touch, hips bucking upwards, eyes squeezing shut. Zitao’s mouth is hot against his skin, sucking and biting harder until Jongin’s pretty sure he can’t see straight.  
  
“So stubborn,” Zitao murmurs, thumb rubbing over Jongin’s nipple, teasing. Jongin expects the pinch, but not the hard tug and he lets out a cry louder than he intends, tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. “But not for long.”  
  
Jongin whimpers, gasping as he tries to keep himself upright but Zitao has other plans, dragging Jongin from the wall. He wraps an arm around Jongin’s waist and holds him close before heading in the direction of the bedroom. Jongin’s eyes widen, hands pushing at Zitao’s chest to break free. But Zitao only laughs, kicking the bedroom door open wide, only to throw Jongin onto the bed. Jongin bounces, once, twice before he settles, scrambling back.  
  
There isn’t exactly anywhere to go but Jongin’s heading for the other side regardless. A hand grabs him around the ankle and yanks him back, another wrenching his coat off, leaving him in his sweater. Jongin’s lungs ache, his face shoved into the duvet’s softness. Behind him he can hear the sound of a belt hitting the ground, following by the rustle of clothes.  _Shit._  
  
Jongin moans despite himself, hands fisting into the blanket, attempting to keep himself from sobbing. He’s aching to be touched, the high from resisting beginning to distort everything. There’s a fogginess to his actions, to everything happening and it’s not until he feels Zitao’s hands on his naked legs that he realises Zitao’s pulled his jeans off.  
  
“Stop,” Jongin tells him but it sounds pathetic even to his own ears, and Zitao’s laughter is arrogant, as if he knows that Jongin’s barely got any fight left. “Please stop, Tao-ah.”  
  
“I don’t think you really want me to,” Zitao smirks, pressing Jongin into the mattress by the neck, holding him in place as he slips a hand down the front of Jongin’s briefs. When his fingers wrap around Jongin’s cock he lets out an obscene moan, embarrassment flooding him immediately. “You want my cock, don’t you, Jongin.”  
  
“No, no, no,” Jongin sobs, but he lets Zitao drag his briefs off, lets Zitao prop his ass up into the air. The resounding smack of Zitao’s hand slapping his ass has him hissing, hands fisting into the duvet harder.  
  
“You shouldn’t lie to me, baby,” Zitao tells him. “I don’t like it.”  
  
Jongin has to choke back the apologies sitting on the tip of his tongue as Zitao spanks him, the silent hiss of Zitao’s hand in the air followed by the booming blow of his hand making contact with Jongin’s ass. His cock’s leaking between his legs, untouched and painful, thighs trembling as he tries to keep himself up.   
  
He’s not sure when it stops, ass aching, head even farther from reality than before but Zitao slips a finger between his cheeks, rubbing at Jongin’s entrance slowly, teasing. Jongin sobs out his name, pushing back into the touch, so, so desperate. Everything was too much and it wasn’t that he’d never been spanked before but rather the assured certainty that Zitao wouldn’t have stopped unless he wanted to. Jongin hadn’t been able to get away even when he tried and it makes him feel breathless, near zoned out.  
  
“Please,” Jongin begs, voice raspy and his throat hurts, exhaustion slowing everything down.  
  
“Please what, Jongin?” Zitao asks, thumb pressing into Jongin’s entrance but not pushing in. Jongin whines, seeking more but Zitao’s hand is back on his neck, holding him down, fingers so tight. Jongin wants them to bruise, wants to see them in the mirror for weeks to come.  
  
The words don’t come out, and instead Jongin finds himself crying in frustration. Zitao seems to take pity on him, finally pressing a finger into him. Jongin groans, letting out a quivering breath as Zitao pumps the finger into him, adding a second sooner than Jongin would have thought. He’d been prepping himself every day, some days Zitao even helped him, and while walking around with his asshole lubed hadn’t been great, Zitao had refused to do the scene with Jongin dry.  
  
“So fucking tight,” Zitao murmurs, fingers fucking into Jongin faster. “And all ready to get fucked. Did you want me that bad, you fucking slut?”  
  
“No, I,” Jongin gasps, Zitao’s words slurred together in his head. Concentrating was too difficult, the lower half of his body aching but the only thing Jongin really wanted was release, he wanted more than just two fingers teasing his prostate. “I’m not, not a slut.”  
  
“Only a slut would enjoy this so much,” Zitao snorts. “Only a slut would be so desperate to get fucked. And you want that, don’t you, Jongin? You want my cock up your ass.”  
  
Jongin can’t even deny it, legs nearly giving out from underneath him but Zitao doesn’t keep him waiting, cock sliding into Jongin in one swift thrust. Jongin screams, babbles something out incoherently but Zitao pays it no attention, fucking into Jongin hard.  
  
The pace is almost brutal, the bed shaking with every thrust Zitao makes into him, the hands on Jongin’s hips digging in painfully hard. Over the sound of his own shameful sobbing, Jongin can hear Zitao telling him how pathetic he looks, that even whores didn’t give themselves up so easily.  
  
He doesn’t expect the hand in his hair, but when he’s jerked upwards he has to struggle to support himself, the angle sending a dull ache down his back. “You wanna come, baby?”  
  
“Yes, yes, please,” Jongin sobs, tears running down his cheeks. He feels so sweaty, the wool of his sweater stifling but Zitao laughs, turning Jongin toward him to give him a kiss. It’s hard, too much teeth but Jongin can’t think straight, he just wants to come.  
  
“I thought you didn’t want this,” Zitao grins, the satisfaction in his eyes sending shivers down Jongin’s spine, little pinpricks of electricity. Zitao presses his mouth right to Jongin’s ear, kissing it once, before whispering, “I told you it wouldn’t last.”  
  
Zitao drops Jongin’s head, doesn’t wait to see if Jongin can hold himself up. His arms give out immediately, but it doesn’t matter because Zitao has his hand wrapped around Jongin’s cock, grasp tight, just the way Jongin liked it.   
  
“Please, please,  _please,_ ” Jongin begs, meeting Zitao’s thrusts halfway, the jolts of pleasure intensifying, Jongin’s mind going blank as his balls tighten, toes curling in anticipation. The hot flash that goes through his body feels overbearing, but when he comes, jizzing harder than Jongin thinks he ever has, his legs buckle, giving out completely. Zitao pulls out of him, only to flip Jongin over, and push right back in, sweat dripping from his brow. His hand wraps around Jongin’s cock again, stroking Jongin until he feels emptied out.  
  
Zitao fucks into Jongin relentlessly, hands on either side of Jongin’s head and it’s too much, Jongin feels too sensitive.   
  
“Zitao,” he pants, hands shaking as they reach out for him. Zitao lets Jongin pull him closer, lets Jongin kiss him and Jongin knows he’s close, the string of curses leaving his mouth all in Mandarin.   
  
“Fuck, Jongin,” Zitao moans, pounding into Jongin so hard that Jongin feels raw, hot cum coating his insides impossibly quickly. Jongin whimpers, feeling dirty but Zitao’s thrusts are shallow as he finishes off, his mouth on Jongin’s neck almost sweet.  
  
Zitao collapses on top of him, breathing rapid and he feels almost sweatier than Jongin, the sound of their laboured breathing filling the room.  
  
“You okay?” Zitao asks, several minutes having passed. Jongin’s head still feels cloudy, like Zitao isn’t really right there and his voice is coming from someplace else.  
  
“I, I think so,” Jongin answers, but he can’t keep his eyes open, exhaustion too much. He needs to get out of his sweater though. It feels itchy and awful.  
  
“Here,” Zitao says, pulling up Jongin’s sweater slowly, until he’s got it over Jongin’s head. He tosses it somewhere behind himself and reaches down to kiss Jongin assuringly, hand pushing Jongin’s bangs out of the way. “I’m gonna get a wet cloth, be right back.”  
  
Jongin nods his head, still not quite there, and slipping quicker to darkness. He wants to sleep, curl up next to Zitao and sleep, but he knows Zitao won’t let him just yet. By the time Zitao gets back, Jongin feels almost panicked, grabbing onto Zitao’s arm too tight but he can’t loosen his grip, scared of him leaving for too long again.  
  
“I’m right here,” Zitao smiles, pressing the wet cloth against Jongin’s brow, wiping away sweat slowly. The cool cloth fees wonderful, refreshing almost but Jongin really only needs Zitao to stay, keep him safe.  
  
“Don’t go,” Jongin mumbles, turning to press closer into Zitao’s lap, arms wrapping around Zitao’s waist. Zitao uses the opportunity to wipe the cloth down Jongin’s back, all the way down to Jongin’s ass, which still aches from the spanking. Zitao only pats the cloth over the damaged skin, prying Jongin’s legs open until he can wipe at the cum dripping down his thighs.  
  
“I won’t,” Zitao assures, once he seems to be done with cleaning Jongin up. “We’ll take a bath tomorrow morning, make sure you heal up nicely.”  
  
“Mmm,” Jongin hums, the gentle cleaning lulling him to sleep. Zitao has to carefully extract himself from Jongin and then shift him upwards, toward the pillows. Jongin tries to be helpful, allowing Zitao to pull the duvet over him. He doesn’t leave, to Jongin’s comfort, but rather loops an arm around Jongin’s waist and pulls him close. Jongin burrows into him, face hiding in the crook of his neck.  
  
“You did so good,” Zitao compliments, rubbing soft circles into Jongin’s back. “Such a good boy for me.”  
  
Jongin almost feels like crying, but the sound is muffled by how closely he’s pressed into Zitao’s skin. Zitao presses a kiss into his hair, leg tangling in with Jongin’s. “I’m proud of you, baby.”  
  
The strangled cry Jongin lets out sounds like something an animal would make and it’s embarrassing but Jongin’s past the point of caring. He should be the one thanking Zitao but stringing together words involves too much effort right not. Later.  
  
Later he’ll let Zitao know just how thankful he is.  
  
“Sleep well, Jongin-ah,” Zitao wishes, warm and comforting and solid. Jongin lets sleep take him, thankful for Zitao’s existence.


End file.
